


The Gallows Pole

by njgirl0976



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 23 year old Dean Winchester, Actual Violence, F/M, Flirting, Implied Violence, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Oral Sex, Pre-Series Supernatural, Seduction, Sex, Witchcraft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-23
Updated: 2015-07-01
Packaged: 2018-04-05 17:58:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 18,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4189530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/njgirl0976/pseuds/njgirl0976
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sent off to Maine on a simple retrieval mission, Dean Winchester meets Emilia Putnam, whose dead hunter boyfriend had in his possession exactly what John Winchester ordered him to get: a Salem witchcraft trial-era spell book. Grab the book and get out. Simple in, simple out, Dean thinks. Too late, Dean realizes that nothing about this trip is simple.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**PROLOGUE**

“Hey, babe.”

“Hey, Mike. What’s up?”

“I have to go on another trip.”

“Another one? You just got back from one.”

“I know. But they need me in Sheboygan.”

“Sheboygan? What the hell’s in Sheboygan?”

“A bunch of witches who broke their office computers.”

“You’re the nicest IT guy ever.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m a saint. I should be back in three or four days.”

“‘Kay. Have fun.”

“Doubt it.”

*****************************

“There’s a coven in Wisconsin that needs to be taken out.”

“All right.”

“We’re meeting Mike Decker there.”

“Is that the hunter from Maine?”

“Yeah. He’s an expert.”

“He’s a pain in the ass, Dad.”

“No arguing, Dean.”

“Yes, sir. Where in Wisconsin?”

“Sheboygan.”

******************************

“How long has Mike been gone?”

“Two days already.”

“Just to fix a few computers?”

“He said it was a pretty big office, so …”

“Yeah, but--”

“Stop it. He’ll be back in a few days.”

******************************

“What are we gonna do, Dad?”

“We’re gonna leave.”

“We can’t leave him here. He has a girlfriend or something.”

“So?”

“So, she’s gonna start to wonder where he is.”

“She’s a hunter’s girlfriend. She has to know this woulda happened.”

“He said she didn’t know he was a hunter.”

“Fuck.”

******************************  
{knock, knock}

“What happened?”

“Are you Emilia Putnam?”

“Yes! What happened?”

“Do you know a Mike Decker?”

“He’s dead, isn’t he?” {crying}

“Yes, ma’am. He died in a car accident.”

******************************

“You sure we did the right thing?”

“We’re not gonna keep talking about Mike Decker.”

“But, Dad--”

“Damn it, Dean! Enough already!”

“Yes, sir.”

“I still can’t believe he didn’t bring the book with him.”

“Did we really need it?”

“We do. And you’re gonna go get it.”

“What?”

“You leave for Maine in the morning.”

******************************

“Should you be back to work so soon?”

“What am I supposed to do? Sit around at home? No thanks.”

“Emilia--”

“Look, I sit in an office all day and take the temps of whiny teenagers who don’t want to take tests. It’s hardly rocket science. Besides, the house is too much--”

“Too much Mike?”

“Much too much.”

“Feeling up to coming out after work for a drink?”

“I don’t know …”

“C’mon, Mia. You just said you can’t sit home all the time.”

“Well … okay … I guess …”

******************************

{screeching brakes}

“Fuck! Fucking moose! Move! You’re blocking the road!”

{obnoxious honking}

“I fucking hate Maine. I need a drink.”

******************************

“This is a terrible idea. There’s nothing happy about happy hour.”

“I dunno. I see something over there that makes me happy.”

“Over where?”

“Over there. Spiky hair. Leather jacket. He’s definitely not from around here.”

“Is there really such a thing as a handsome, mysterious stranger these days?”

“We’ll find out in a minute. Here he comes.”


	2. Chapter 2

Dean smiled easily at the two girls. One was blondish and thin. One was brunette and chunky. According to what Mike Decker said, his girlfriend was a brunette. That had to be her. Dean had been following her for three days, from home to work and back again. Except for a side trip to the grocery store one day, she had the same routine every day.

“God, her life is boring,” Dean grumbled to himself on day two, rubbing a hand over his face.

But here she was, hanging out at a bar. For someone in mourning, she seemed pretty okay with throwing back beers. Dean cranked up the wattage of his grin.

“Hey, ladies,” he said, leaning against their table.

Dean watched as the two girls exchanged a brief glance. The blondish one smiled back at him, while the brunette found the label on her beer bottle really interesting. He gave the blonde a little smirk.

“Hey, there,” the blonde said. “Wanna sit?”

The brunette looked up quickly, her eyes screaming murder. Dean ignore the glare and joined them.

“So, how’s it goin’?” Dean asked.

“Pretty good,” the blonde one said. “I’m Kate and this is Emilia.”

The brunette looked up from where she was glaring at her beer bottle to roll her eyes at Dean. Dean ignored her sneer, supremely confident in his good looks and charm.

“Emilia. That’s a great name,” he said.

“Thanks,” the brunette said. “I got it for my birthday.”

Dean’s sunny smile twitched at her sarcasm. Oh. Oh, this was going to be fun. Emilia arched an eyebrow and got up.

“I’m getting another round,” she told Kate. Then she turned to Dean. “You want something …”

“Dean. Dean Winchester,” Dean replied.

“Of _course_ , you’re called Dean.” Emilia rolled her eyes again and walked away.

“Is she--is she getting me a drink?” Dean asked Kate, putting on his best flirty face.

“I don’t know,” Kate replied, leaning toward Dean in what she probably thought was a sexy way. All she did was throw herself off-balance on the wobbly table. “If she doesn’t, I will.”

“Great.” Dean looked over at Emilia. Standing up, she wasn’t that chubby. Dean considered her. Huh. She had a nice ass.

“Ahem?”

Dean turned back to Kate, who seemed annoyed. Shit. Like he needed this kind of problem.

“Yeah--uh--Kate?” Dean asked.

“Whatcha lookin’ at?” Kate asked.

“Just--just waiting for the next round,” Dean replied. He winked. “She’s taking a while.”

“But I’m still here,” Kate said.

 _Shit,_ Dean thought, but he said, “You are, aren’t you?”

“Here.” Emilia thrust a beer into Dean’s hand. “Now, Dean. What brings you to town?”

Dean took a swig of his beer. “Just passin’ through.”

“On the way to where?” Kate asked.

“Canada,” Dean replied quickly.

“What’s in Canada?” Kate asked.

“My work.”

“What do you do?”

Dean scratched the back of his head. “You got a lot of questions, Kate.”

“Yeah, Kate. You do,” Emilia agreed, eyeing her pointedly.

“Sorry.” Kate giggled. “It’s not every day a handsome stranger comes to town.”

Dean made his patented “Hey, ya got me there” face. Kate giggled again. Emilia, as expected, seemed less impressed. Dean bit the inside of his lips. She’d just lost her boyfriend. She wasn’t going to be as susceptible to his charms as Kate, for example, was. Dean tried a different tactic.

“So, Emilia,” he said, turning to her. “Where do you work?”

“I’m a nurse,” Emilia replied.

“Wow,” Dean commented. “I didn’t see that coming.”

“What do you mean?” Emilia asked, genuinely curious.

Dean choked on his beer. There was no way he could tell her that most of the girls he ran into and around with were diner or bar waitresses, strippers, bar flies, and party girls with self-esteem issues. This girl had a real job that required real brains. Briefly, Dean considered he may be in way over his head.

“Oh, nothing.” Dean recovered smoothly from his introspective moment. “That’s cool, I guess.”

Emilia smiled at Dean, who recoiled a little. There was nothing sweet or flirty in her smile: it was sarcastic and a little weary with the whole conversation.

“Thanks,” Emilia said, holding her smile. “I love validating my life’s work to a total stranger.”

“Hot as he is.” Kate winked at Dean.

 _Now this one, I like,_ Dean thought, appraising her as he raised his beer bottle to his lips. _Why can’t Mike’s girlfriend be like this one?_

“Well, this has been tons of fun, but I’m off,” Emilia said, standing up suddenly. “Night, Kate. Nice meeting you,” Emilia paused, giving Dean the once-over. Was that a playful glint in her eyes as she pretended to forget his name before snapping her fingers and adding, “Dean, right?”

“Wait, Mia--” Kate began but Emilia was already weaving her way through the bar to the exit.

Dean dropped the beer bottle between his fingers in annoyance. This hadn’t gone nearly as well as he had expected. But what had he expected, honestly? She was hardly gonna fall into his lap. Dean stood up.

“Where are you going?” Kate asked, sounding whiny.

“Long drive tonight,” Dean told her. “Heading back to my motel.”

“Are you?” Kate batted her short eyelashes at him.

Dean considered her for half a second, but shook his head a little. “Night, Kate.”

Kate put on an angry pout. “Night.”

By the time Dean reached the parking lot, Emilia and her car were long gone.

“Fuck,” Dean grumbled.

Driving to her house, Dean parked outside across the street. The lights were off in the glassed-in front porch, but Dean could see her faint silhouette moving around the front room from the dim blue light of the TV. Dean couldn’t imagine a hunter living in a house like that, with its front porch and mini blinds and white mailbox with the red flag and slate path from the driveway to the front steps and the flowery bushes out front. How was he comfortable there? Where did he hide his weapons? And his research materials? And his conjuring stuff? Did he lock it all up in a secret room in the basement? The whole idea of a hunter in a trim little bungalow in a sweet little Maine town with a nurse as a girlfriend made Dean uneasy.

A hunter’s life shouldn’t be like that.

The next day, Emilia left for work at 6.55am as usual. Dean waited until she’d pulled away and was long gone when he trotted across the street to her house. The street was still mostly dark, but Dean skirted around to the back of the house to see if there was a second way in.

“Yahtzee,” he whispered, spotting the back door.

Dean picked the lock swiftly and let himself in, sweeping the room with his flashlight. The dim light of an October morning didn’t give off much sunlight as Dean moved through the kitchen. There was no way a place like this had a basement, so Dean headed upstairs to look for attic access.

Passing through the living room to the staircase, Dean paused for a minute. The room was smallish but comfy with an overstuffed brown couch and matching chair. There was a flat screen TV tucked into the built-in bookcase which was surrounded by books, both hardcover and paperback. There were so many books jammed into the cases that they sat on top of the ones lined up neatly like little soldiers. The coffee table was strewn with newspapers and even more books. There was even a new PlayStation 2 on the shelf under the TV. Dean pursed his lips as he looked around, feeling a little wistful. So, this was how a hunter lived if he had a real home.

Shaking his head, Dean headed upstairs. The stairs were narrow and they creaked and Dean had to duck his head a little when the ceiling sloped down, but it was upstairs where he hit paydirt. In the third bedroom, the tiny one, Dean found a male-centric room with three computer set-ups and three locked trunks. Fiddling with one lock, Dean broke the trunk open to find Mike’s cache of weapons: guns, blades, bullets of all shapes and sizes. In the second, smaller trunk was his collection of fake IDs and law enforcement credentials. In the third one was Mike’s research materials.

“Damn, man,” Dean whistled, kneeling down next to the trunk. A lot of the books looked older than Jesus.

Digging through the trunk, Dean found books on just about everything monster-related he could imagine, but not the spell book John had sent him for. Leaning back on his heels, Dean cursed. Where the hell could Mike have hidden the thing? Dean’s fingers brushed a soft, leathery cover briefly, forcing him to look into the trunk again.

“What’s this?” he murmured to himself, pulling out a small, leatherette book wrapped in rubberbands and falling apart at the binding. Dean pulled the rubberbands off and the book almost fell apart in his hands. He began reading:

_“Moved in with Mia. Not the smartest move but fuck, I love her. Got a call to go on a hunt in NH, but said no. Mia would kill me if I took off without helping her unpack.”_

Dean blinked. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

Flipping a few pages, Dean paused to read more:

_“She’s getting weird over my trunks. Keeps asking why they’re locked. I’m running out of ways to tell her that it’s none of her business. Not ready to tell her what I really am.”_

“That’s why you don’t live with anybody,” Dean snorted. “Idiot.”

_“Got a call from John Winchester and couldn’t say no to witches in Wisconsin. He can be a dick, but he’s a great fucking hunter. Plus? He called me to ask for my help. Can’t wait to tell Karl about that shit. Gotta handle Mia the right way since I just got back from CT.”_

That was the last entry and it was dated just a few weeks prior, the day John had called Mike Decker. John had only wanted Mike Decker along for his spell book, but--when Mike failed to bring it--John really had no use for him. Dean tried to be cool with Mike, but he was so stiff and formal and John was so aggravated with Decker, it made everything incredibly uncomfortable. Right up until the part where Mike Decker died, that is.

Dean started to shove the diary back into the trunk, but his curiosity got the better of him. Settling down with his back against one of the desks, Dean began to read in earnest.

Turns out Mike Decker recorded every hunt he’d ever been on in painstaking detail: names, dates, places, the weapons used, the hunters he worked with (if he worked with anyone). Emilia didn’t show up in the diary until 1999, when they were both 23 and Mike had been hunting for about four years. That was when Mike stopped hunting all the time and became more of a monster research nerd. He even got a job as an IT support guy.

“Loser,” Dean commented, barely skimming the pages and pages of domestic bliss with Emilia, who was apparently the best thing since sliced bread.

Then something caught Dean’s eye:

_“Came home to find Emilia standing in the upstairs hallway, reading. When I asked her what she was reading, she hid it from me and said nothing. All three of my trunks were still locked, so it’s probably nothing.”_

Then:

_“My book is gone. Emilia must have it.”_

Then:

_“I asked her for my book. I told her it was on loan from the antiquities department at the college, but she swore she didn’t know what I was talking about. Fuck. She has to have it.”_

Then:

_“Looked everywhere. It’s gone. I’m gonna fucking kill her if she lost it.”_

Then:

_“I confronted Mia about the spell book and she told me that she returned it to the college. I went to the college and they had no idea what I was talking about. Went back to Mia and she told me the college must be lying. Somebody’s fucking lying. I’m gonna find out who.”_

The next entry was the one about John calling him, then the diary ended.

Dean slammed the diary shut and jammed it back into the open trunk. So. Emilia or the college were lying over what they did or didn’t know about the spell book. Dean sighed and rubbed the back of his neck before unfolding his long legs to get up off the floor. It seems a trip to the college was in order.

Dean was halfway down the stairs when he heard a key turning in the front door. Shit! He must’ve lost track of time reading because here was Emilia letting herself in. Dean headed back up the stairs and into Mike’s room. Closing the door behind him, Dean leaned against it, looking up at the ceiling and shaking his head.

“This,” he said to himself as he heard Emilia moving around downstairs. “This is bad.”


	3. Chapter 3

Dean cracked the door open. Emilia had taken herself to bed 30 minutes prior. Dean had waited until the house was dark and quiet before even thinking about venturing into the hallway.

 _Holy shit, I gotta piss,_ Dean thought desperately, making his way down the hall to the staircase.

Glancing over his shoulder at Emilia’s closed bedroom door, Dean felt his way down the stairs. Just a couple more feet and he was home free.

 _Shut up, shut up!_ Dean glared at the steps as they creaked under his boots. Why the fuck was this house so goddamn noisy? He’d never been in a noisier house and he’d been in some noisy-ass--

“Who the fuck are you?” a female voice demanded as Dean reached for the knob of the front door.

Dean froze. Jesus Christ. So goddamn close.

The unmistakable sound of a handgun being cocked made Dean’s whole body seize up. Holy shit. She had a gun? This was bad. So bad. So, so bad.

“I said who are you?” Emilia’s voice rose a few octaves as her panic grew.

Dean turned around slowly to face her. The look on Emilia’s face was pure astonishment.

“You?” she asked. “ _You_?!”

“Hey,” Dean replied, for lack of a better response.

Emilia jabbed the gun at him. “What are you doing here?”

“I--uh--I--” Dean began.

“Fuck this,” Emilia muttered, obviously to herself. She started dialing the cordless phone she had in one hand while still training the gun on Dean. “911? I have an intruder--”

“I knew Mike!” Dean practically shouted at her.

Emilia froze. Dean could hear the 911 operator on the other line asking for Emilia’s address and if she was in trouble. Emilia stared at Dean before whispering “Never mind. It was a bear.” into the phone and hanging up.

“You knew Mike?” she repeated.

“Yes. Yes!” Dean answered as she reaffirmed her stance with her handgun aimed at his chest. “I did. We worked together.”

Emilia looked skeptical. “You don’t look like you work in IT.”

Dean groped wildly for an answer as Emilia stared at him with an increasingly exasperated look on her face. She seemed to have forgotten that this total stranger she’d just met in a bar the night before was now standing in her living room, trying to convince her--badly--that he knew her dead boyfriend. Emilia let out a gusty sigh.

“You’re a really bad liar,” she told Dean calmly.

Dean’s stammering stopped for a minute. Assessing the situation, Dean realized he had nowhere to go but down if he kept talking.

“I’m not. Usually,” he told her.

Emilia shrugged with one shoulder. She hadn’t dropped the gun, obviously, but she seemed less terrified and more resigned to the fact Dean was in her house.

“If you say so,” she replied.

A pounding on the door made Dean spin around and Emilia jump.

“Shit! The cops!” Emilia said.

“Are you gonna turn me in?” Dean asked, smiling sweetly.

Emilia looked at him, her mouth open in shock.

“ _You_ broke into _my_ house--” she began.

“I was with Mike when he died,” Dean blurted out, instantly regretting it.

Emilia’s eyes welled with tears that she immediately blinked away as the door pounding started again.

“It’s the police! Open up!” yelled a voice.

Emilia waved the gun. “Go. Hide.” Dean paused. “Jesus! _Now_ , pretty boy.”

Dean took off for the kitchen as Emilia opened the front door. Pressed against the wall next to the fridge, Dean heard as Emilia explained away her call by saying that a bear had tripped her outside back light and scared her, prompting the call. The police asked her half a dozen times if she was all right and alone before leaving.

When Emilia came into the kitchen, Dean was in agony. If he didn’t get to the bathroom soon, he was going to die.

“Can I use your bathroom?” he asked her.

“What?” Emilia seemed astounded.

“Bathroom,” Dean repeated. “ _Please_?”

“In the hall.” Emilia motioned with her gun and Dean took off, edging past her carefully in case she got the idea to pistol whip him.

When Dean returned, Emilia had turned on the kitchen light and was drinking a cup of water. Her hands shook as she held the glass, making Dean wonder if her brave act was just that: an act.

“You okay?” he asked.

Emilia barked out a sharp laugh. “Are you serious? I meet you in a bar last night. You break into my house, tell me you know my dead boyfriend, and I end up lying to the police--one of whom I’ve known since I was 10. So, no, Dean Winchester, I am most decidedly not okay.”

Dean didn’t say anything, but waited for Emilia to stop pacing and look at him, which she did. He gave her his most “I understand and look at how understanding I can be. Aren’t I adorable?” smile. The smile only lasted about 15 seconds before it withered under Emilia’s annoyed glare.

“Start talking,” she said.

“Can I sit--?” Dean motioned at a kitchen table chair.

Emilia rolled her eyes at him, but pointed at one of the chairs with her gun. Dean waited for Emilia to join him. She didn’t, choose instead to stay standing across the room from him, gun in hand, anger and hurt and confusion etched over her tired face.

“Tell me everything,” Emilia said.

Dean’s brain raced for a good story. He had zero intention of telling her the truth (no fuckin’ way), so a good lie had to be thought up. And quick.

“So, we were in--” Dean paused for a split second, trying to remember.

“Sheboygan?” Emilia volunteered.

“Right. Sheboygan. And me and Mike were fixing these computers--”

“Where?”

“What?”

“Where were you fixing the computers?” Emilia crossed her arms over her chest.

Dean faltered. “In … Sheboygan?”

Jesus Christ. Why the fuck was it so hard to lie to this girl? Dean Winchester, professional liar since childhood, had never once stammered over a story, no mattered how far-fetched it was. Now, here he was, trying to lie his way out of a potential trip to jail for B & E and attempted larceny, and he couldn’t get a single word out.

Emilia sighed. “You must think I’m an idiot.”

“I--I don’t,” Dean said.

“Dean, I work with teenagers,” Emilia told him. “I deal with the most elaborate lies concocted by man every single day. Just stop.”

“But I’m not--” Dean began again.

“Really?” Emilia cut him off. “Please just tell me what happened. I swear to god, I won’t freak out.”

Dean opened his mouth, closed it, and bit his full bottom lip. He shrugged.

_Well, here goes nothing._

Dean locked eyes with Emilia. “Mike was killed by a coven of witches we were trying to exterminate. Me and my dad made it look like he died in a car accident.”

Dean didn’t break his gaze. Emilia stood stock-still for a beat, then turned to the freezer, opened it, and took out a bottle of vodka. She dumped the rest of her water into the sink and filled the glass with a double shot, which she put back like a champ. Dean waited, unsure of this reaction, while Emilia took another shot.

“That stupid asshole,” Emilia said suddenly.

“What?” Dean asked, surprised.

Emilia turned and looked at Dean. She smiled a little at him.

“Mike,” she replied. “He’s an asshole.”

“I don’t get it,” Dean admitted.

Emilia came across the kitchen and joined Dean at the table. She offered him the vodka, but Dean shook his head. Booze plus confusion wouldn’t help the situation right now.

“I knew what he was,” Emilia told Dean. “He tried to hide it, but he must have thought I was a complete idiot.”

“What was he?” Dean asked, nervous over what her answer would be.

“He was a hunter,” Emilia replied simply. “He killed monsters. Like you do. And your dad, presumably.”

“You knew the whole time?” Dean couldn’t keep the shocked tone from his voice.

“Oh, hon.” Emilia ruffled her messy, short hair ruefully. “Mike was shit at keeping secrets. Do you think his office was always locked? It wasn’t. I only locked it after he died.”

“So, you spied on him?” Dean asked.

“Hardly,” Emilia scoffed. “All those trips out of town for IT work? Who did he really think he was kidding?” She took another slug of vodka, straight from the bottle this time. “I kept waiting for him to tell me the truth, but he didn’t. Then I found this book of his--”

“The spellbook?” Dean burst out before he could stop himself.

Emilia regarded Dean with sharp, brown eyes. “You know about that, do you?”

Dean flushed against his will. “Yeah. Well, I--”

“Lemme guess. You want it?” Emilia interrupted.

“Yeah, I do.”

Emilia snorted back a giggle. “Good luck finding it.”

“What?” Dean

“Did you think I would tell you where it was?” Emilia asked. There was no malice in her voice, no bitterness. It was just a simple question. “Smile at me a little? Hit on me in a bar? And then I’d hand the spells over to you, just like that? Oh, Dean. I’m not that easy.”

“I can pay you,” Dean offered next.

“I’m sure you can,” Emilia agreed. “Maybe try to seduce me with those eyes and all that practiced charm?”

Dean bit his lip again. This wasn’t going _at all_ how he planned.

“Sorry, Dean, love,” Emilia said wearily. She got up from the table. “You can stay the night. Rip the house apart for all I care, looking for it. But you have to go in the morning. Okay?”

“Uh … okay,” Dean said, unsure of the whole scene.

Emilia smiled at him. It was the first real smile she’d given him since he’d met her 24 hours ago.

“You really are something, boy-o,” she told him. “Too bad we met like this.” Emilia laid her hand on his leather-clad shoulder briefly before moving it up to let her thumb rub his soft cheek, a touch that seemed a little more intimate than Dean expected. “I bet we could have had fun.”

“We still could,” Dean offered boldly, turning in his chair to look at her as she left the room.

Emilia glanced back at him before laughing. It was a low laugh, throaty, and it gave Dean a weird little twist in his stomach when he heard it.

“Good night, Dean Winchester,” Emilia said.

And then she was gone, taking her gun and vodka bottle with her.


	4. Chapter 4

Dean heard Emilia’s feet on the creaky stairs before she appeared in the kitchen. He leaned against the counter, holding a coffee cup casually like he lived there.

“Morning,” he said when she came around the corner.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” Emilia jumped a mile, then glared at him through half-awake eyes. “What the fuck? Why are you still here?”

Dean grinned at her as Emilia planted her hands on her hips. He took a sip of coffee, made an appreciative face over the taste, and then set the mug down on the counter. Emilia waited, barely containing her anger.

“Well, see, that’s the thing,” Dean replied easily. Emilia’s jaw clenched at his playful tone. “I need that book. It’s kind of important. Obviously, you’re not going to use it, so why not … give it up?” Dean spread his hands wide in a cutesy “c’mon, dontcha think?” kind of way.

Emilia ignored the way the skin on the back of her neck tingled at Dean’s choice phrase of “give it up” and shook her head, closing her eyes briefly.

“If I give it to you,” she said, opening her eyes again to look at Dean, “will you leave?”

Dean grinned. “Absolutely.”

Emilia huffed and held up one finger. “Stay right there.”

Emilia left the room with Dean nipping at her heels.

“Didn’t I tell you to stay there?” Emilia asked him over her shoulder as they headed back upstairs.

“I’m not a good listener,” Dean told her, shrugging.

“Pity on your poor mother,” Emilia muttered.

Dean shook off that comment as Emilia walked into her bedroom. He paused in the doorway. Her bed was unmade, as expected, but the rest of the room was warm and tidy with work clothes thrown over a ratty armchair in the corner.

“So, you’re a nurse?” Dean asked, making chitchat as Emilia knelt down in front of the hope chest at the foot of her bed.

“Yeah.” Emilia lifted the lid of the chest and began to dig inside it.

Dean eyed the clothes again: jeans, Docs, a Batgirl scrub top, red bra and tropical print bikini panties. “What hospital lets you wear jeans?”

“I’m a school nurse.” Emilia blew an annoyed gust of air out as she glanced his way before turning her attention back to the chest. “I can wear whatever I want because I’m young and cool. But mostly because the principal has known me since I was 12.”

“Oh.” Dean watched her for a few minutes before his curiousity got the best of him. He came across the room to peer over her shoulder. “What’re you doin’?”

“Getting you the book, sweetheart,” Emilia replied. Leaning up on her knees, she lifted up the false bottom of the hope chest. The cubby under the bottom was empty. Emilia sat back on her heels with a thump. “Where is it?”

Dean felt his stomach drop. “Where’s … what?”

“The book.” Emilia’s voice had a nervous edge to it. “I put the spell book right in here.”

“And now it’s gone?”

“Yeah …” Emilia’s voice trailed off. She pushed a few things in the chest aside in a half-hearted attempt to locate the book, but she and Dean both knew it was gone.

Dean blinked a few times, trying to register the missing spell book. This was so bad. For so many reasons. The main reason was John Winchester was gonna kick his ass for not bringing it back.

“Did anyone else know about it?” Dean asked.

“No.” Emilia shook her head as she stood up. She ran her hands over her short brown hair. “Mike couldn’t even find it. And he tried.”

“Why did you hide it from him in the first place?” Dean asked.

Emilia shot Dean a withering look. “Never mind that,” she said. Glancing at her alarm clock, she cursed, “Fuck. I have to go to work. Get downstairs.”

“What? You’re going to work?” Dean was surprised. “But we have to--”

“Look, my whole life isn’t going to stop just because that book is missing,” Emilia told him as she pushed him out of her bedroom. “Look for it while I’m gone.”

Dean stuck his head back in her room, grinning naughtily. “Does that mean I can stay?”

“Get out!” Emilia shoved out of the doorway by the face, but Dean was sure she was smiling.

20 minutes later, Dean was downstairs, digging through the books in the living room. He knew the probability of finding a 310 year old spell book mixed in with Harry Potter hardcovers and the entire Narnia series was pretty fucking slim, but he was gonna try.

“It won’t be there,” Emilia’s voice said from behind him.

Dean turned to see Emilia ready to leave for work. She looked pretty cute when she wasn’t being so sarcastic. Dean appraised her. Oh, yeah. She was definitely cute.

“Why are you going through there anyway?” Emilia asked, gathering up her purse and travel mug.

“Exhausting all avenues,” Dean replied, checking out her ass when she leaned over to adjust the tongue of her Docs. He snapped himself back to proper behavior when Emilia turned around to face him.

“Just put them back the way you found them,” Emilia requested.

“They were all over the place,” Dean protested.

Emilia grinned, pushing her glasses up her nose. “Then alphabetize them for me. I’ll be home around 3.30.”

Dean followed her to the door. Before she left, Emilia glanced back at him.

“Try Mike’s office again,” she suggested. “I don’t think it’s there. But he has a ton of shit in there I haven’t even gone through yet.”

Dean nodded. “Okay.”

“There’s cold cuts and stuff for lunch if you get hungry.”

Dean blinked. “Oh. Thanks.”

“And stay in the house. I don’t need to neighbors seeing a hot guy wandering around my yard.”

Dean grinned. “You think I’m hot?”

Emilia bit her lip. Dean Winchester was irresistible when he smiled like that. And he knew it.

“You know you’re hot,” she shot back.

“I’ll be here,” Dean told her.

“I have no doubt.”

Up in Mike’s study, now that he had Emilia’s permission, Dean tore the room apart. He found a hidden panel behind one of the desks chock full of more IDs and ammo, plus a treasure trove of phones. Checking each one, Dean listened to voicemail after voicemail from other hunters, asking for help researching. It sounded like most hunters trusted him as a library as opposed to a hunt partner. That was why John Winchester had called him: specifically for the book which was now missing. John Winchester didn’t actually want to hunt with him.

“Mike, it’s Jessie. We met at The Draft sports bar,” a girl’s voice said.

“What’s this now?” Dean commented to himself as the new message started.

“I just wanted to say thanks for that night,” the girl continued, starting to giggle. “We had a great time.”

“ _We_?” Dean smirked appreciatively. “Go, Mike.”

“And if you’re ever back in Concord, call me.”

Click.

“Hey, Mike,” a new girl’s voice came out of the phone.

“ _No shit_ ,” Dean said, sitting up straighter.

Apparently, Dean had come across Mike’s “girlfriend phone.” It was clogged with voicemails and sexy text messages and phone numbers assigned to names like Amber and Krystal and Tiffani.

“Mike, you dog,” Dean chuckled.

A rumble from his stomach clued Dean in that it was later than he thought. Heading into the kitchen, Dean made himself a huge sandwich and dug in, trying to think of places where Mike could have re-hidden the spell book. Just because Emilia didn’t think Mike could find it didn’t mean he didn’t.

Emilia. Dean’s stomach dropped a little. She didn’t know about Mike’s “girl in every port.” There weren’t many hunters that did repeat business in towns, but it was pretty common to pop in on an old fuck buddy if you were passing by close enough. Hell, Dean knew more than a few girls who would sneak out on their current boyfriend or husband even if he called them spur of the moment.

He knew he shouldn’t feel that bad about Mike’s extracurriculars, but there was something shitty about meeting the girl behind the hunter and knowing her man had run around on her. Still, Dean shrugged a little to himself, it wasn’t his place to tell.

After lunch, Dean headed upstairs again. As entertaining as Mike’s office was, the spell book wasn’t in there. Standing in the hallway, Dean glanced at Emilia’s bedroom door. Could it…? Dean cocked his head to the side. Could it be hidden in the room that it was originally hidden in, just in another place? Could it really be that simple?

Emilia’s room was just as she had left it, nightgown tossed on the unmade bed, open bathroom door, sink littered with hair stuff and a discarded toothbrush. Dean hesitated. There was no sign of Mike anywhere in the room. No clothes left out sentimentally or a pair of his shoes kicked off by the closet. It was like he didn’t exist any more in Emilia’s life.

Opening the closet door, Dean found a collection of scrub tops, band t-shirts, and two dresses. The top shelf was lined with sweaters and the floor was a tangled clump of boots and sneakers. He looked in one shoe box and found a pair of black high heels. No spell book.

Pawing through the dresser drawers only revealed more t-shirts, about 25 pairs of jeans, socks, and a drawer of underwear that made Dean smirk a little. Emilia certainly liked her panties sexy, tiny, and colorful. No spell book.

Slamming the drawer shut, Dean grumbled under his breath in annoyance. He was no closer to finding the book and what the hell was that smell? It smelled like fruit and flowers and something deeper, sexier. He had to get out of Emilia’s room. The stink of it was simultaneously making his nose itch and his hormones stir. Besides, there was no sign of what he was looking for.

A trip to the college where Mike told Emilia he borrowed the book from yielded zero results too. The librarians in the antiquities department didn’t fall for his charming, lost college student routine and one of them pretty much told him to be on his way before she called campus police. Not wanting to be arrested by some overzealous rent-a-cop with a can of Mace, Dean left, but not before he found out the name of the literature department head. If Dean couldn’t flirt his way past that guy’s secretary, he didn’t deserve the name Winchester.

Emilia’s car was already in the driveway when Dean pulled up behind her. A neighbor walking his dog watched curiously as Dean headed up the front steps. Dean waved at him cheerfully as Emilia yanked the door open.

“Get in here!” she hissed, grabbing his arm. She turned to the neighbor and called, “Hi, Mr. George! Tawny looks lovely tonight.”

“Tawny?” Dean asked.

“His dog.” Emilia’s smile was frozen to her face as she finished waving at the neighbor and shut the door. Once they were alone, Emilia dropped the mask, her eyes flashing with anger. “I told you to stay inside!” she exclaimed. “Do you have any idea how bad this looks?”

“I’m a cousin?” Dean suggested, following Emilia into the kitchen.

“Dean.” Emilia shook her head.

Dean shucked off his leather jacket, tossing it over the back of a chair. “Long-lost brother?”

“ _Dean_.” Emilia’s voice held a taut warning.

“Well, I can’t sit here all day, waiting for you to get home,” Dean told her. “I have to find the book and get back to--”

“Back to whom?” Emilia asked. “Your girlfriend?”

“Hell no.” Dean shook his head, grinning ruefully. “Don’t need one of those.”

“So, you’re more like a love ‘em and leave ‘em kinda guy?” Emilia said.

Dean shrugged. “There isn’t a lot of time to have a life when you do what I do.”

Emilia regarded Dean coolly. “Mike did.”

Dean choked back a comment. No need to say a word.

“When was the last time you took a shower?” Emilia asked Dean suddenly.

“What?” Dean sounded surprised.

“A shower? A bath? Wash up?”

Dean shrugged. “Dunno. Few days ago?”

“Yeah.” Emilia made a face. “I can tell. And laundry?”

“You my mom now?” Dean teased, his lips curling into a teasing smile.

“Not hardly,” Emilia replied with her own smile. “But you stink. Your clothes too. Leave all your shit down here and you can wash it during dinner. And go take a shower. A long one. Use lots of soap.”

“You gonna wash my back for me?” Dean raised his eyebrows.

Emilia’s cheeks went a little pink. “And your front too, right?” she said without missing a beat.

Dean couldn't let that pass without cocking his head to the side with a raised eyebrow. “And what am I supposed to wear?”

Emilia’s pink cheeks went even pinker. “I’ll leave some stuff in Mike’s study.”

Dean just stood there, smiling at her.

“Towels and--uh--wash clothes are in the--in the hall closet.” Emilia was full-on stammering.

“Thanks, Mia,” Dean said.

“I hate Mia,” Emilia blurted out.

“Yeah?”

“I like Amy,” Emilia told him, her whole face aflame in embarrassment. “But no one calls me that.”

Emilia turned away from Dean, who smiled at her hunched shoulders.

“Okay,” he said. He started to leave the room, but caught Emilia glancing over her shoulder at him. Dean flicked his eyes over her with a decidedly approving gaze. “Amy,” he added, his low voice pleasantly caressing her name for effect, before heading upstairs.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not a Latin scholar (that would be Petrichor_Amber), so if the title of the book Dean tries to read is incorrect, lay your blame on Google translator, not me. ;)

The water pressure in Amy’s guest bathroom nearly knocked Dean off his feet. After years of washing up in motel sinks or under the pathetic trickle of a motel shower, actual water pressure where the water hit him all at once was a luxury that made him groan. Dean leaned his head under the stream, letting the steady thrum of hot water relax his muscles. Man, how was he going to give up this shower when it was time to go?

“Dean?” Amy’s voice asked from the hallway. “You almost done? I left some clothes in the room for you.”

Dean stuck his head out from behind the shower curtain. “Thanks, Aim.”

Dean could practically hear Amy’s sharp intake of air from the other side of the door.

“Right,” he heard her reply softly. “Jesus Christ--fucking nonsense.”

And with that, she was gone, thumping back down the stairs to the kitchen. Dean shook his head a little as he grabbed the bar of Irish Spring he found under the sink and began to soap up. There was no denying that he was getting under her skin, but Amy’s dogged resistance to being flirted with was a little infuriating. Dean was never so conniving to use a girl’s feelings against her, but--if it was an ends to a means--he just might. John Winchester would broker no excuses on Dean returning empty-handed.

There was a pair of track pants and a grey t-shirt waiting for him in Mike’s study. The clothes were too big for him by a long shot plus no underwear, no socks, and no string to tighten the waistband of his borrowed pants made Dean a little uncomfortable, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. Stumbling downstairs while holding his pants up by the waist, Dean found Amy in the kitchen.

“What’re you doing?” he asked.

Amy paused, a spoon in her hand. She was standing over a pot of simmering tomato sauce. Dean could smell garlic and meatballs and his stomach growled appreciatively.

“Dinner?” Amy replied in a teasing voice. “Aren’t you hungry?”

Dean grinned. “I’m always hungry.”

Amy glanced Dean up and down. “Those pants are huge on you.”

“Mike was a big dude,” Dean said.

Dean saw Amy swallow hard and he kicked himself. Amy covered her emotion by pointing at the fridge with her spoon.

“There’s beer. And grab out the Parmesan while you’re in there.”

Opening the fridge, Dean froze for a minute. Grabbing a beer and the Parmesan cheese at the same time meant having to let go of his pants, possibly losing them in the process. Amy caught Dean standing in front of the fridge, looking confused.

“Problem?” she asked.

“Uh …” Dean began.

Amy let out a short laugh. “Pants about to fall off?”

Dean chuckled. “Yeah. You’d get a hell of a show.”

Amy snorted, rolling her eyes. “I bet.”

Coming across the kitchen, Amy took hold of the waistband of Dean’s pants.

“Whoa.” Dean held his hands out of the way.

Amy shot Dean a look, arching one eyebrow. “Hang on.”

“Whatcha doin’ there?” Dean teased.

Amy curled her lips into a little smile. “I’m adjusting you.”

“How’re ya gonna do that?” Dean asked, lowering his voice a little.

Amy’s fingers grazed Dean’s belly as she rolled the baggy waistband of his pants a few times. Her dark eyes flashed playfully as her fingertips trailed a little too long on his hips.

“Just making things a little ... _tighter_ ,” she replied softly.

Dean’s gaze went from Amy’s mouth to her eyes in one flick. Her hands were still on his waist, above the baggy track pants, which had slipped even lower down on his hips. The corner of Amy’s lower lip caught between her teeth as she looked up at Dean.

“Hey,” he murmured.

“Yeah,” Amy breathed.

Dean slid a hand around Amy’s waist, letting it rest on the small her back. Pressing her closer to him, Dean felt Amy’s grip tighten on his skin, nails digging in slightly as she inhaled a deep breath.

“Dean?”

“Hm?”

Amy’s eyes were liquidy. She was practically gnawing her bottom lip off as she stared up at him. Without warning, Amy lunged up and kissed Dean hard. Dean responded immediately, pulling her even closer to him. One of Amy’s hands wrapped around the back of Dean’s neck to pull him down to her mouth. Dean’s tongue flicked around Amy’s, making her moan deep in her throat. Dean’s hands roamed over Amy’s ass, grabbing and holding on.

The kissing went on for a few more minutes before Amy yanked her mouth off Dean’s. Dean’s eyes popped open as the loss of suction. He smiled lazily, his full lips red and more swollen than ever.

“You okay?” he asked, knowing the answer.

Amy’s tongue peeked out from between her lips, licking off the taste of Dean’s mouth.

“Okay,” she agreed.

“You wanna …” Dean dropped the rest of the sentence, letting his one arched eyebrow finish the question for him.

A million emotions and answers flashed over Amy’s face before she replied, “We can’t.”

Dean considered this. “All right then.”

“Really?” Amy sounded surprised. “Just like that?”

Dean nodded. “Just like that.”

“Oh. Wow. Okay.”

Dean and Amy stood there for another minute before Amy disentangled herself. She adjusted her clothes again, tugging her shirt back down. Dean’s track pants did nothing to hide his semi, so he didn’t bother, walking over to the fridge again to grab two El Sols and the cheese.

“The sauce is kinda burnt,” Amy told him as Dean handed her one of the bottles.

Dean shrugged. “That’s okay.” He stood as close to her as possible, leaning against the counter next to the stove.

“You’re very distracting,” Amy told him, giggling. “You know that, right?”

Dean took a long pull of his beer, watching as Amy watched his lips caress the mouth of the mouth of the bottle. It wasn’t the first time someone had watched him, but it was the first time Dean felt like the person was observing him in a scholarly sense as opposed to a horny sense.

“What?” Dean asked, wiping the corner of his mouth with the hand holding his beer.

“Nothing,” Amy replied slowly, a curious look on her face. “You’re fascinating.”

Dean grinned. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Amy shoved two plates into Dean’s hands. Dean fumbled with them for a minute before getting a better grip. Amy dumped pasta onto both plates. “You’re absolutely beautiful and you know it, but I’ve never met a guy with more bravado to cover up his insecurities than you.”

“I’m not … insecure,” Dean stuttered a little.

Amy’s lips curled, her smile teasing and light. “It makes you even sexier, to be honest.”

Dean smiled. “Oh, yeah?”

Amy laughed. “Go eat.”

After Dean stuffed himself sick, he paused, unsure of what to do next. Did he offer to help clear the table? Did he offer to wash the dishes? Dean could count on one hand how many times he’d washed dishes. Without saying a word, Amy loaded the dishwasher.

“Were you planning on cleaning up?” she asked when she turned and saw Dean standing uncertainly near the table.

“No,” Dean replied. Amy arched an eyebrow. Dean stammered. “Uh? Yes?”

“Really?” Amy asked.

“No. Yes. Fuck! I don’t know.” Dean ran a hand through his hair. “Can I go?”

Amy laughed softly, waving him out of the kitchen. Dean fled the room with his beer. He headed upstairs to Mike’s study and lugged an enormous trunk of books down with him. If he couldn’t find the actual spell book, maybe he could find a reasonable equivalent in the collection. John Winchester had no idea what the spell book looked like, so … it could work … maybe …

Shaking his head, Dean settled onto the couch and opened the first book. The binding crackled in his hands and the yellowed pages were as fine as tissue paper.

“ _Studium Venationibusque Fithos_.” Dean could barely wrap his mouth around the Latin title. “Okay. What the hell does that mean?”

“ _The Study and Hunting of Witches_.” Amy appeared in the doorway of the living room. “You want a drink?”

“Yeah.” Dean motioned at his empty beer bottle.

“I was thinking …” Amy held up a bottle of Scotch and two tumblers.

“That-a girl,” Dean agreed, pushing the bottle away.

Amy poured two fingers of Scotch for them and sat down on the floor at the coffee table. Dean let the smooth liquor run down his throat, throwing his arm over the back of the sofa.

“This is fucking amazing,” he said.

“Right?” Amy agreed. “Mike brought it back after a hunt. It’s called Craig.”

Dean took another swallow. “Where did he get it?”

Amy shrugged. “He said some poncy English guy in a black suit gave it to him after Mike did him a favor, but he probably stole it from him.”

“Either way, I’m glad he did.” Dean swirled the amber liquid around in his glass.

The two sat in a companionable silence, drinking and listening to the crackle and snap from the fireplace chasing away the chill of an autumn night. A woman with a deep, throaty voice sang about lost love from the CD Amy had turned on.  Amy was flipping through the book Dean had tried reading and snorted suddenly.

“What?” Dean asked.

“That’s bullshit,” Amy replied, gesturing at the open pages in front of her. “That’s not how you make a--”

Dean arched an eyebrow. “A what?”

Amy’s cheeks flushed but Dean couldn’t tell if it was the Scotch or embarrassment. Flustered, Amy slapped the book shut, but not before Dean saw it was text on hex bags.

“Never mind,” Amy muttered, turning her attention back to her glass.

“What do you know about hex bags?” Dean asked.

“I read,” was Amy’s lame response.

“Not a lot of hex bags being taught at Hogwarts,” Dean teased lightly.

“True,” Amy conceded. “But what I could tell you about Portkeys and Hungarian Horntails.”

Dean wouldn’t be so easily deferred. “C’mon, Aim. Hex bags?”

Amy shrugged. “I know stuff. Like I said, I read a lot of this shit without him knowing.”

Dean watched as Amy’s pink cheeks bled down her throat to her chest. Hoping the booze would loosen her up, Dean waited until he saw her shoulders relax and a drowsy smile played across her mouth.

“You feelin’ good?” Dean asked softly.

Amy turned heavy-lidded bedroom eyes at him. “Delicious.”

Dean shifted. There was something in the way Amy said “delicious” that made his dick twitch a little. He grinned.

“I bet.” Dean pushed his back against the arm of the couch and made a space for Amy between his legs. “Come up here with me?”

A fleeting moment of indecision on Amy’s face was replaced by a sly smile. “So you can take advantage of me?”

“Never.” Despite his flirty tone, Dean meant it.

Amy joined Dean on the sofa. “So …” She giggled before composing herself. “Have you had many women, Dean?”

Dean choked on his drink, but recovered. “I guess so.”

Amy licked her lips, her eyes trailing over Dean’s face to his mouth. “I bet you’re a lot of fun.”

Dean smirked a little. “That’s been mentioned.”

Amy arched a sardonic eyebrow. “If I was younger …” She refilled her glass and took a swallow of Craig. “And sober …”

“Younger?” Dean asked. “You’re 26.”

“That’s eons older than you, my sweet,” Amy told him seriously.

Reaching out a forefinger, Amy ran it over the back of Dean’s hand and up his arm to the rolled-up sleeve of his blue shirt. She hooked the finger under the cuff and pulled Dean’s hand over to lay on her collarbone. Dean curled his fingers around her neck, running his fingers over her throat. Soon, Amy had nestled herself between Dean’s legs.

“So …” she said, trying to be seductive. “I think we should fool around.”

“Do you?” Dean asked, pulling her closer to his chest.

“I do,” Amy agreed, smiling a little. “We should totally tear our clothes off and go crazy on each other.”

Dean made his “I’m game if you are” face. Amy took this as a ‘yes’ and leaned in to kiss him.

“You sure?” Amy whispered against his mouth. Her tongue flicked out and tasted the Scotch on his top lip. “You won’t regret me in the morning?”

Dean kissed Amy softly, lingeringly. He held her face in both hands while Amy gripped his thigh with one hand and the couch cushion under her with the other. Her heart pounded in her ears as Dean’s kiss deepened.

When their lips finally parted, Amy kept her eyes closed for a minute, trying to catch her breath.

“Wow,” she breathed, saying it out loud without meaning to.

She opened her eyes to see Dean, calm, smiling with more than a little smirk.

“I never have regrets,” he said. Dean paused a minute, considered what he said, and added, “Except maybe that waitress in Des Moines.”


	6. Chapter 6

Dean leaned his head back as Amy’s mouth worked its way over his throat. Dean was about 80% sure her sudden lust and bravada was Scotch-induced, but there was no way he was going to stop her now. Her breath tickled his ear as Amy nibbled his earlobe playfully. Dean held her hips as she rolled them against the rock hard bulge in his track pants.

“You sure?” he asked.

Amy raised her eyes from his neck to his face. She ran the tip of her tongue over her lips a little before giving him a rather wicked, curled-lip grin.

“So sure,” was her answer.

“Good.” Dean sat up, wrapped one arm around her waist and held the back of her head with his other hand in her short brown hair, pulling her mouth to his.

Amy responded with a whimper that sent a thrill down Dean’s spine. She kissed his shoulders through the fabric of his t-shirt while he moved to her neck. Pulling Dean’s shirt over his shirt before pushing him back against the couch, Amy kissed Dean’s forearms into the crooks of his elbows. Dean sighed a little as her lips grazed the sensitive skin on the inside of his arms.

As quickly as Amy had started kissing him, she stopped. Dean lifted his head off the couch’s armrest when he felt the cushion shift as it lost Amy’s weight. She moved away from him on the couch, looking uncomfortable. Dean sat up a little, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Amy replied. “Everything’s brilliant.”

Her voice was too bright, too chipper. It didn’t take a genius to figure out something was wrong.

“You sure?” Dean tried again.

“I’m really fine.” Amy’s tone changed now, sounding edgier. Her cheeks went red and Dean knew it wasn’t embarrassment.

“All right,” Dean agreed, letting the whole thing go.

Suddenly, Amy sighed and motioned with one finger to the space between her and Dean, looking sheepish. Dean and Amy smiled at each other and he motioned for her to come back into his arms.

“Sorry about that,” she said quietly, sounding awkward and shy. “I--um--It wasn’t the right …”

“Time?” Dean asked, finishing her statement, while sighing. He knew that statement was coming and what _wasn’t_ going to be cumming, so Dean pressed the heel of his hand against his throbbing cock to smother it back to sleep. Amy moved closer to him and Dean pulled her back to his chest.

“Yeah,” Amy whispered. “It felt wrong.” Dean crooked his head to the side to look at her, making Amy blush and laugh. “That’s not what I meant! I mean, it felt great and, God, I could just--” Amy cut herself off with a longing, breathy glance over her shoulder at the bulge in Dean’s lap. “The way you kiss and your hands and your … Okay, yeah. I’m gonna stop talking now.”

Amy rested her head in the crook of his shoulder and closed her eyes. Dean kissed the side of her head as he reached for their glasses of Craig. Amy took hers and jokingly clinked it against his. Sipping Scotch again, they enjoying the heat from the fireplace and their companionable silence.

The ringing phone snapped the duo out of their coitus-interruptus snuggling.

“Hello?” Amy turned away from Dean slightly as she answered it. “Oh, hey, Faith. What’s up?” Listening for a few minutes, Amy groaned a little. “Fine. You can come here. Bye.”

“What’s going on?” Dean asked.

“A group of girls from work need to come over for a union meeting,” Amy replied, looking annoyed. “They were going to meet at Faith’s house, but her husband is being an ass and I’m the only person who doesn’t have a husband or a kid to get in the way.”

“And you’re bummed about that?” Dean asked, trying to sound sympathetic.

“Are you kidding me?” Amy replied. “Who wants that? Some guy telling me what to do and a kid to stop me from sleeping in on the weekends for the rest of my life? Pass.”

“But--but, Mike?” Dean was incredibly confused.

“I wasn’t ever going to marry him.” Amy sniffed. “I would never give away my power like that.”

“Power?” Dean arched an eyebrow.

“Never mind,” Amy said quickly. “You’re not a girl.”

“Last time I checked,” Dean teased.

Amy smiled. “So, now what?”

“Let’s see,” Dean said. “We have Scotch and a fire and music and we’re curled up on the couch and I’m ready to go …”

Amy burst out laughing. “Are you suggesting we have sex?”

“Am I?” Dean asked innocently.

Amy slapped Dean’s bare arm. “You’re incorrigible.”

Dean gave Amy his best “I’m innocent and adorable” grin. “That’s been mentioned.”

“Hey, Dean. Wake up.”

“What? _What_?” Dean groaned, rolling over onto his belly.

“I have to go to work,” Amy’s voice said. “And the girls will be over at 4. You can’t be here.”

“You’re telling me this now?” Dean pried one eye open.

Amy was standing over him, dressed in a Wonder Woman scrub top and a pair of black jeans. Dean squinted up at her.

“You’re telling me this now?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Amy told him. “If you’re here, there’ll be questions I can’t answer.”

Dean rubbed his eyes, looking around. He was tucked into Amy’s bed. It was obvious that Amy had slept next to him.

“I don’t remember coming up here,” Dean admitted. “Were we that drunk?”

Amy shrugged. “We must have been.”

“Is there any of that Craig left?” Dean asked.

Amy’s brown eyes sparkled. “We’ll find out later.”

“Later?” Dean looked hopeful.

“Later.” Amy dropped Dean a playful wink and left.

“Awesome,” Dean grinned to himself after Amy left.

Another trip to the college brought Dean to the desk of the literature department’s secretary (well, one of them). She was an elderly woman with a ridiculously tight perm, pink plastic glasses from the 80s, and a pervading perfume of menthol muscle rub and cigarettes.

“Hi,” Dean said, walking up to her desk.

The old woman looked up, watery, colorless eyes suspicious behind the yellowing lenses of her glasses. Dean recoiled a little.

“Yes?” she asked, glaring at him.

“I was just wondering if a friend of mine brought a book in to be looked at,” Dean said, smiling easily, pretending the old buzzard was Amy. “It was old. Maybe this big?” Dean held his hands apart to guesstimate the size of the spell book. “Really, really old.”

The ancient secretary glared at him. Dean shifted imperceptibly, putting his hands down slowly. The staring contest continued until Dean got uncomfortable and began to back away without breaking eye contact.

“Okay. Never mind. Gonna go now,” he muttered.

“You’re the third person to ask about a book like that in a month,” the secretary said suddenly.

Dean stopped in his tracks. “What?”

The secretary repeated herself, slowly and loudly like Dean was hard of hearing, enunciating every word, “You are the third person to ask about a book like that in one month.” She cleared her throat, a rumbly, phlegmy noise that turned Dean’s stomach and continued in a normal voice, “And like I told the other two: I’ve never seen or heard of such a book.”

“Who were the other two?” Dean asked immediately. The secretary glowered over her glasses at him. Dean sighed and tried in a more polite tone, “Please? Then maybe they could help me out and I can leave you alone.”

The secretary pushed her papers around on her desk while Dean waited for what felt like an entire lifetime. The amount of power this old bag obviously thought she had was annoying as hell.

“One was a fat man, about your height. He was dressed like a hobo, like you,” the secretary began, looking at Dean’s clothes disdainfully.

_Hobo?_ Dean thought, glancing down at his jeans and leather jacket. _This old bat must be blind. I look good._

“The other was a girl,” the secretary finished.

_Amy,_ Dean thought immediately. “What did she look like?”

The secretary sighed so hard, her false teeth rattled against each other. Dean waited impatiently until her little snit moment was over.

“Brown hair. Skinny. _Too_ skinny, if you ask me.” The secretary sniffed.

_Skinny? Well, that’s not Amy,_ Dean decided.

“Do you remember anything else about her?” Dean asked.

The old lady stilled Dean’s inquires with a final scowl. “No. And I suggest you be on your way, Mr. Questions.”

“Thanks for your time,” Dean replied and left the office, slamming the door on purpose.

Knowing he couldn’t go back to Amy’s because of the meeting she’d agreed to have, Dean stopped at the bar he’d met her at. Sitting at the bar, Dean tossed back a shot of whiskey or two before switching to beer.

So, Mike must have visited the college after he thought Amy had brought the spell book back there. But a skinny brown-haired girl came in after him? No one could call Amy skinny, so there was no way that it was her.

Dean smiled ruefully as he took the final slug of his beer and motioned for another with the empty bottle. Nope, Amy was definitely not skinny. She had just the right amount of plump in all the good places. Dean paused a minute, thinking about how she felt against his chest last night on the couch, all soft curves and soft lips. If only she hadn’t stopped them. Dean was sure whatever kind of sex they could’ve had would have been awesome.

Another hour of drinking and flirting with the bartender, Dean paid his tab and left. It was after 6pm and there was no way Amy’s house would still be full of people.

Dean couldn’t have been more wrong.

Opening the front door, Dean stumbled into the living room, tripping over an umbrella that was in the doorway. Still holding onto the doorknob, Dean righted himself and realized that the living room was stuffed with women. Lots of women.

“Hey,” he said uncertainly, grinning at their surprised faces.

Amy came rushing over, her cheeks going pink. She grabbed his arm in a vise-like grip, digging her nails into his upper arm. Dean tried to pull his arm away, whispering “Ow! Amy!”, but she didn’t let go.

“Who’s this?” one of the women asked.

“Dean!” came a cheerful voice. It was Kate, from the first night in the bar. “What are you doing here?”

Kate and the rest of the room swiveled their heads as a collective to stare at Amy, who looked ready to explode.

“Hang on,” Amy gasped out, sounding desperate. She started to drag Dean into the kitchen, smiling wildly. Slamming Dean against the edge of the counter, Amy glared up at him. “What are you doing here?” she hissed.

“I thought they’d be gone,” Dean replied honestly.

“Do you have _any_ idea how--” Amy began.

“--met him at the bar the other night!” Kate’s voice reached them, clear as a bell.

Amy dropped her head against Dean’s chest. “Oh, my fucking Christ.”

Dean, unsure of what to do with his hands, hovered them between patting her on the head and pulling her into a hug.

“Emilia Putnam, you slut! Get your ass in here!” a female voice shouted from the living room, setting out a gale of feminine laughter.

“I hate you,” Amy hissed, jabbing her finger at Dean as she straightened her shoulders and left the room.

Standing there, against the counter, Dean listened to Amy spin the most fabulous lie he’d ever heard:

Dean was gay and had been friends with her in college before he’d transferred to a university in Vancouver. The reason he didn’t recognize her at the bar was because she looked so different (short hair, fatter {along with that comment came the obligatory chorus of “You’re _not_ fat!” from Amy’s enraptured audience}, and myriad of other reasons). Once he called her the next day with a number he’d found online, he and Amy had put two and two together and she demanded that he come stay with her during his visit.

“Too bad he’s gay,” came a girl’s voice. “I’d climb him like a tree if he was straight.”

“Dean! Get out here so we can meet you!” came another voice.

Dean strode into the living room. A group of expectant and curious faces met his when he entered. Amy was her normal color, if not a little pale, and she was breathing heavy from her rapid-fire lie.

“Ladies,” he greeted them in his best lady killer voice.

A ripple of giggles went through the room. Dean counted the empty wine bottles and realized that he’d never been in a room with more drunk girls he wouldn’t be able to score with in his entire life.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here be sex. You have been warned.

Dean joined Amy’s friends while she shot him murderous glares from the floor. The women in the room seemed absolutely delighted to be joined by such a good-looking guy (gay or not) that they plied him with booze and begged him for his life story.

“And then Amy and I found ourselves on top of Gilbert Hall in just our underwear, drunk as skunks, being chased by campus police because they thought we let all the animals out of the science lab,” Dean finished his story to a room of hysterically laughing women as Amy cringed on the floor, trying to sink into the hardwood.

“You call her ‘Amy’?” one of them, a thin, older woman with curly brown hair ( _Faith,_ Dean reminded himself) asked. “We thought she was Mia.”

“Oh, only _I_ can call her Amy,” Dean said, reaching for another beer. “It’s my special name for her.”

The room “ _Awww_ ”d like teenagers as Amy blushed and hid her face in her arms. Kate gave Amy a shove.

“You never told me that story!” Kate cried.

“I blocked it out,” Amy deadpanned, glaring at Dean, who grinned innocently.

“Tell us another one!”

Amy clenched her jaw at the idea of another Adventure of Dean and Amy lie to be told and subsequently spread through the staff at the high school. Luckily, her remaining shreds of dignity were saved by Faith, who seemed to be the ringleader of the group.

“I have to head home, girls,” she said, looking at her watch as she put the pillow she’d been holding against her chest to the side and stood up.

Dean stood, too, as the rest of the party scrambled to their feet, babbling about angry husbands and missed bedtimes. Dean joined Amy by the door like they were a happy couple as the girls all filed out, saying “Good bye” and “See you Monday” and wishing Dean could stay forever. Dean’s smile was at 400 watts as Amy clutched his hand, digging her nails into his skin. When Faith walked by before leaving, she gave Amy a hug before turning her full attention to Dean.

“It was nice to meet you, Dean.” A smile darted across her face. “I never did catch your last name.”

“Winchester,” Dean replied.

An odd look flitted across Faith’s eyes, but it was gone in a second, making Dean wonder if he really saw something or if the 12 pack of beer he’d put away between the bar and the party was making him hallucinate.

“Well, nice to meet you.” Faith turned to Amy. “See you Monday.”

“Bright and early.” Amy looked like she could barely wait to lock the door behind all her guests.

Faith’s blue eyes scanned Dean from head to foot before she gave him a friendly hug. Dean’s arms wrapped around her tiny frame easily. He was more than relieved when Faith finally let him go and left, shooting Amy and Dean another speculative glance over her shoulder.

Amy closed her front door and turned every lock on it with a decided jerk of her wrist.

“Well,” she said finally without turning to face Dean, who had moved across the living room to finish off his beer, “that was awful.”

“I think it went really good,” Dean disagreed.

“Of course you think that,” Amy snapped sarcastically. “You’re not the one who has to live down all those stories you told about our time in college together.”

Dean let out a laugh. “Those were great.”

Amy rolled her eyes. “They were so ridiculous. No one is going to believe I streaked the entire lacrosse team.”

“They believe it now,” Dean replied, grinning, as he took a drink.

Amy shook her head. “Incorrigible.”

“Now you’re just as incorrigible as I am,” Dean told her.

“I need a drink,” Amy groaned, but started to move around the living room, gathering wine glasses.

“Is Faith your boss?” Dean asked, following her into the kitchen, carrying delicate wine glasses in his big hands.

Amy shook her head. “No. She’s one of the music teachers.”

“She’s skinny as hell,” Dean commented, remembering how his arms nearly wrapped back around himself when Faith hugged him. “It was like holding onto a cricket.”

“She’s always been,” Amy said, rinsing the glasses out. “You like your girls chubby, huh?”

Dean caught Amy’s eye, noticing the incredibly naughty look she was shooting him.

“I’m an equal opportunity kinda guy,” Dean agreed.

“So, Dean …” Amy sidled across the room to him, slipping her arms around his waist. “You want to pick up where we left off last night?”

Parts of Dean thought that was a fantastic idea and immediately applauded her suggestion. Other parts of Dean knew that taking Amy to bed after she’s had half a bottle of wine would make her regret him in the morning.

“Maybe when you’re sober?” Dean suggested, his hormones screaming as his conscious spoke up nobly.

Amy licked her lips as she rolled her eyes. “C’mon, Dean. I’m a grown up. I know what I’m doing.”

 _DO IT!!_ Dean’s libido screeched in his ear. _SHE WANTS IT!! DO IT!!_

“I can’t, Aim,” Dean said, but he didn’t disengage himself from their embrace. “Not when you’re like this.”

“You’ve never taken a drunk girl to bed before, Mr. High Standards?” Amy teased, her hands creeping down from the small of his back to grip his ass. She pressed herself toward him even harder. “I can change your mind, ya know?”

Dean’s resolve crumbled as Amy’s hips moved against his, the friction of the movement making his cock strain harder against the zipper on his jeans.

“Can you now?” Dean’s voice was low and playful.

“You have no idea,” Amy assured him, purring the words out.

“Show me,” Dean told her.

Amy reached between them to unbuckle his belt. Once his jeans were loose enough, Amy slid her hand into them to grip his hard cock. Dean sucked air in between his teeth as Amy’s soft hand worked its way gently up and down his shaft.

“Want me to kiss it?” she whispered as her hand moved.

“Yes,” Dean whispered back, eyes closed.

“Say it again,” Amy ordered softly.

Dean groaned. Amy’s hand stopped moving a little, waiting for Dean’s answer.

“Say it, Dean,” she repeated, her voice throaty. “Tell me what you want.”

“I want you to suck my dick,” Dean replied. Just saying it out loud made his cock jerk in her hand.

Amy pushed Dean’s jeans and boxer briefs down to his knees and appraised his hard dick for a moment. She looked up at him with the dirtiest gaze Dean had ever seen outside a porno before she leaned over to run her tongue over the head of his dick.

“Oh, fuck,” Dean gasped, exhaling in a gust. He hadn’t even realized he’d been holding his breath.

Amy’s mouth was wet and sure of its own skill as she teased the head before swallowing him down. Working her mouth the full length of Dean’s impressive cock, Amy’s tongue caressed the underside of it, rolling the thick vein back and forth as she moved up and down.

“Holy shit. Holy shit. Holy shit.” Dean couldn’t catch his breath as he held her head for balance.

Amy popped her mouth off Dean’s cock suddenly. Dean opened his eyes, panting heavily.

“Come with me,” she said before turning on her heel and leaving the room.

Dean gathered his jeans up in one hand, barely holding them up, as he followed her up the stairs to her bedroom. Once Amy closed the door after them, Dean turned to face her. Amy slipped out of her clothes easily, leaving her bra and panties on just to tease him, Dean was sure. Coming across the room to him, Amy pulled Dean out of his shirts and jeans like she did it every night.

“Lay on the bed,” she instructed. “I’m not done with you yet.”

“Oh, yeah?” Dean sassed back. “What are you gonna do to me?”

Amy pushed her glasses up her nose as regarded him from behind the lenses. Dean almost exploded right then and there at the whole Sexy Librarian aspect of the movement. Amy’s lips curled into a most mischievous grin.

“I’m going to suck your cock until you scream my name and then I’m gonna ride you until you cum. Then I maybe I’ll stop. _Maybe_.”

Dean’s knees went weak at her tone. He let Amy lay a finger on his chest and “push” him backwards onto her bed. Crawling up between his spread legs, Amy laved Dean’s cock while running her fingernails over the ticklish parts of the inside of his thighs. Dean moaned as Amy’s wet lips stroked his dick.

“God, don’t stop,” he panted, thrusting his hips up to meet her mouth. “Don’t stop, Amy. God, don’t.”

Amy’s lips moved faster, meeting his desperate thrusts. Reaching between his legs, Amy fondled his balls lightly. Her touch made Dean cry out.

“Holy fuck!” he exclaimed as he came messily into her mouth.

Amy swallowed him down before pulling her mouth off his cock to lick his head slowly. Just the light touch of the tip of her tongue sent shocks of pleasure through Dean’s body.

“Holy fuck,” he gasped.

Amy settled next to Dean on the bed, leaning up on one elbow to look down at him. Dean opened his eyes and breathed out before glancing over at her.

“Fuck, Aim,” Dean sighed. He blinked a few times before really focusing on her. “What about you?”

“What about me?” Amy asked.

“What can I do for you?” Dean’s eyes shone. It was obviously a rhetorical question. Dean knew exactly what he could do for Amy.

Amy bounced onto her back, then grinned at Dean.

“Take me, stud,” she teased.

Dean positioned himself over Amy, pushing her legs open with his knees. Kissing her softly, he could taste himself on her lips. Moving down her body, Dean’s full lips grazed over her neck to the swell of her breasts. Amy arched her back as Dean moved his hand under her to unhook her bra. Nipping at her nipples, Dean ran his hands up and down her sides. Amy moaned Dean’s name softly as Dean’s fingers twisted around the waist of her panties and started to pull them off as he kissed his way over her round belly.

“Dean, please,” Amy moaned again, wiggling a little under his lips.

Amy’s panties got caught halfway down her legs, so Dean yanked them off the rest of the way and chucked them onto the floor as Amy laughed. Amy’s giggles stopped as Dean’s tongue rolled its way between her lips. With one leg over each shoulder, Dean licked Amy in long, broad strokes until his tongue caught on the hood of her clit. Sucking her clit into his mouth, Dean flicked it back and forth slowly. Amy’s hips came off the bed, but Dean pushed them back down, pinning her to the mattress.

“Oh … Dean …” Amy groaned before biting down on her hand to stifle her noise.

Dean stopped licking long enough to pull her hand from between her teeth.

“No, Aim,” he said. “I wanna hear you.”

“Okay,” Amy breathed as Dean’s tongue went back to work.

Dean’s tongue moved against Amy’s clit in steady strokes, causing her hips to start to roll against his mouth. Dean moved with Amy for a minute before sliding his finger inside her. Amy let out a short cry that was immediately replaced by a long moan as Dean’s finger and tongue began to work in tandem.

“God, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes,” Amy panted hard.

Dean hummed excitedly against her clit, his fingers moving at such a languid pace, Amy felt like she was going to die before she came. Clutching at the edges of the mattress, Amy ground her pussy against Dean’s face, begging Dean to make her cum.

Suddenly, Dean pulled his fingers from her pussy, grabbed her hips, and sucked her clit until Amy screamed, spilling a stream of breathless obscenities over them both. Dean licked her clean, then joined Amy back up on the pillows. Laying next to him, Amy’s body vibrated with residual shocks of pleasure.

“Wow,” she breathed. “Just wow.” She glanced at Dean with heavy-lidded sex eyes. “Where did you learn that?”

“Years of practice,” Dean replied quietly, running his fingers lightly over her trembling body. He kissed her collarbone softly. “Years.”

Amy rolled onto her side and kissed Dean. Dean rolled her on top of him, inching her down to straddle his hard cock.

“Wait.” Amy stopped, leaned over, and pulled a condom from the bedside table. “Put this on.”

“Will you do it?” Dean asked, smiling playfully.

Amy ripped the condom open with her teeth, not breaking eye contact with him. Reaching behind her, Amy slid the condom down the length of Dean’s dick. Dean’s eyes half-closed at her touch, but he watched her as she arched her body over his cock and slid down on it without hesitating.

“Oh, goddamn,” he groaned.

Amy and Dean moved against each other, slowly at first. Amy held onto the bed’s headboard as she rolled her hips with Dean gripping her waist, thrusting his pelvis up to meet her. Amy threw her head back as she rode him, groaning, as Dean moaned underneath her. Amy leaned over Dean, chests pressed together, her mouth near his ear.

“Get on top of me, Dean,” Amy whispered, begging.

Dean and Amy rolled over, Dean slipping out of her for a minute before they settled back down together. Amy wrapped her legs through Dean’s as he pulled her close to him, kissing her neck and ear, thrusting.

Amy moaned, arching up into him. Dean took his time, rolling his hips smoothly against hers. Amy panted against Dean’s shoulder, his face buried in her neck as he ghosted his lips over her skin.

“Oh, God, Dean,” she groaned as he struck that sweet spot.

“ _That’s it, Amy_ ,” he whispered, grinding a little harder.

“Don’t stop, Dean. Please,” Amy murmured, fingertips digging into Dean’s shoulder blades.

Dean’s body screamed for release, but he held out until he felt Amy tighten on his cock. With a loud cry, Amy came again, arching against Dean’s chest as pleasure ripped through her. Dean watched her cum, loving the way she looked and felt, and that tipped him over the edge. With a final thrust and shout, Dean came. For a few seconds after, Dean and Amy stayed frozen in their final positions: Dean propped up on his arms above Amy whose legs were still locked around Dean’s.

Amy opened her eyes and looked up at Dean, who was gazing down at her. They smiled at each other, a little shyly.

“You good?” she asked.

“You need to ask?” he replied.

Dean and Amy untangled themselves from each other. Dean pulled Amy to him, letting her rest her head on his chest. They lay there like that for a while before Amy sighed.

“Want some water?” she asked, sitting up.

“Sure.” Dean nodded, stretching his arms above his head.

Amy reached over and grabbed her panties, pulling them on as she sat on the edge of the bed. Dean rolled his head lazily, letting his neck pop and crack, before catching a glimpse of a circular black tattoo on Amy’s shoulder as she pulled a tank top over her head.

“Be right back.” Amy smiled at Dean and left the room.

Dean kept his grin in place until she was gone. Then his smile dropped immediately. Dean knew that tattoo; he'd seen it before. In his journal, John Winchester had sketched a crude drawing of it after seeing it carved on the wall of a cave in Framingham, MA.

Amy was a witch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Amy's tattoo is called a Hecate's Wheel.  
> The symbol of Hecate's Wheel is used to represent the three aspects of the goddess - the maiden, mother and crone. Hectate is a goddess in Greek religion and mythology associated with crossroads, entrances, the moon, witchcraft, magic, herbs, necromancy, and sorcery.  
> The wheel is used to symbolise the power of knowledge and life and is a popular symbol in feminist traditions.


	8. Chapter 8

Saturday morning dawned chilly and damp. Dean felt Amy get out of bed and head into her bathroom. He propped himself up on his elbows, glancing around the room. There wasn’t anything witchy in here at all. He’d already been through the room from top to bottom looking for the spell book and didn’t come across a single witchy thing. Dean had even watched Amy dig through the hope chest, which was boringly filled with childhood and wedding day mementos.

In fact, Dean had been through the entire house--including hidden nooks and crannies he was sure Amy didn’t even know about--and there wasn’t a single supernatural item in the whole place outside Mike’s office. Dean blinked, realizing what he was missing.

Mike’s office.

The water started in Amy’s bathroom. Dean got dressed and was halfway across the room when he heard,

“Dean, you wanna join me?”

Dean froze. Did he want to get soapy and have awesome but (admittingly) complicated shower sex or did he want to find out if he was sleeping with an unsanitary, bodily fluid spewing witch?

Wavering back and forth, Dean clenched his fists, cursed to himself, and called back, “I’m going to make us some coffee.”

“Perfect,” Amy agreed from the shower. “Hurry back before I run out of hot water.”

Dean glanced desperately into the bathroom, made a sad face, then left the bedroom for Mike’s office. A hidden panel in the wall had revealed Mike’s stash of ammo and phones. Maybe there was another panel that hid Amy’s dirty secret.

The only hidden wall cubby Dean found was the one he already knew was there. He was kneeling in the closet, tapping the walls in there when he heard,

“What are you doing?”

Dean stopped in mid-tap. Leaning back onto his heels out of the closet, he found Amy in the doorway, wrapped in a towel, her short brown hair spiky from being hastily dried.

“Uh … I was … um--” Dean stammered.

“God, you are the _shittiest_ liar,” Amy snapped. “What are you looking for, Dean? The spell book? Still? Haven’t you realized it’s not anywhere in this house?”

Dean stood up, towering over Amy. There was no way he was going to lie about what he was doing. Not if he was going to be facing a witch.

“I’m looking for your witch shit,” Dean told her.

“My--what?” Amy’s face drained of all color.

“You a witch?” Dean asked.

Amy’s hands clutched at the towel gathered above her breasts. “A what?”

“You are.” Dean couldn’t keep the disgust from his voice. “You’re a witch. No wonder you won’t give me that book.”

“I don’t have the spell book!” Amy cried. “I had it and now it’s gone.”

“Bullshit,” Dean spat out. He grabbed Amy’s arm and propelled her back into the bedroom. “Get dressed. You’re gonna get me that book.”

“Dean, please--” Amy began.

“I don’t make deals with witches,” Dean told her.

Amy held her head up as they got dressed. If nothing else, Dean was impressed with her guts. Once Amy had thrown on jeans and a long sleeved raglan, she sighed and turned to Dean.

“If you really want to see my altar, it’s outside in the garden shed,” she told him.

“Is the book out there?” Dean asked.

“How many times do I have to tell you?” Amy sighed as she pulled on her Docs. “I don’t have the goddamn thing.”

“I’ll believe it when--” Dean began.

“When you don’t find it?" Amy interrupted. "Again?"

“Get walking,” Dean ordered, grabbing his gun from the inside pocket of his leather jacket.

“I like this new bad-ass you,” Amy said as they headed out the kitchen door to the backyard. “It’s such a change from you in bed.”

Dean’s skin prickled at her tone. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well,” Amy commented as she unlocked the garden shed, “you obviously like the other person to be in charge.”

“No, I don’t,” Dean argued.

“Really?” Amy held the door open and gestured for Dean to go in first. Dean motioned with his gun to her to go in and she did, sighing gustily. “If I had told you to get down on the kitchen floor last night and fuck me until I told you to stop, I bet you would have.”

“Shut up,” Dean growled, hating how true that sounded.

Amy flicked on the light in the shed and opened her arms to show off her altar.

“Here you go, Mr. Big Hunter Man,” Amy said sarcastically. “Look how awful and dangerous I am.” Amy wiggled her fingers at Dean in a mocking “magic” gesture. “Woooo! Scary! Get the hangman.”

“Shut up,” Dean grumbled, moving further into the shed.

On the beat-up table was a white lace runner laid with a old pewter bowl filled with flower petals and a stubby white candle, a few crystals in various shapes and colors, two hand drawn pictures of Hecate’s Wheel and a Celtic triquetra, and a large bundle of half-burned sage. There were a few books on the shelves above the table which Dean headed for immediately. All of them were commercially produced books on witchcraft and spirituality, minus a cloth-bound diary with thick vellum pages. Dean tucked his gun into the back of his jeans and opened the diary, reading a few pages while Amy watched him, bemused and annoyed.

“You wrote this,” Dean said, showing her the diary.

“I know,” Amy replied.

“And this is your--”

“Altar,” Amy finished for him.

“So, you’re not a--”

“Witch? No, I am. Just not a Satan worshiping, black magic witch.”

Dean looked confused. “But I thought witches …”

Dean closed the diary and ran his hand over his face as Amy took the book away from him.

“I know what you thought, Dean,” Amy said. “It’s the same thing all you hunters think: Witches are evil. We cast spells. We make hex bags. When are any of you going to learn that sometimes witches can just be normal people?”

Dean looked at Amy, standing there in her garden shed that smelled of sage and herbs and flowers, in her Docs and jeans, her glasses slipping down her nose, and had a creeping feeling that maybe he might not know everything about everything.

An hour later, Amy was paying for pizza while Dean sat on the couch, head in his hands. He was no closer to finding that stupid fucking spell book and now he was starting to get pissed off calls from John Winchester, who was demanding to know his progress.

“Beer?” Amy’s voice asked as a bottle came into Dean’s lowered line of vision.

Dean raised his eyes to meet hers. Amy looked sympathetic and not at all triumphant at proving him wrong.

“Yeah. Thanks.” Dean took the proffered beer from her as she placed the pizza box in front of them on the coffee table.

Amy joined Dean on the couch, giving his shoulder a playful shove.

“You okay, sweetie?” she asked.

Dean turned a blinding smile on Amy. “Sure, I am.”

Amy let out a bark of laughter. “You really are the worst liar.”

Dean was about to retort when the phone rang. Getting up while still chuckling, Amy turned to face Dean as she answered.

“Hello?” Amy paused, listening. “Hello?”

Dean opened the pizza box, helping himself to a piece. Amy hung up, checking the Caller ID.

“Dirty caller?” Dean asked through a mouthful of pepperoni and sausage.

“Hang up.” Amy rejoined Dean, sitting closer than Dean would have thought possible.

Amy turned on the TV, flipping channels until she found a showing of _Raiders of the Lost Ark_. Leaning back against the couch with her feet on the edge of the table and a slice of pizza in her hand, Amy nudged Dean back to join her.

“C’mon, Dean,” she said softly. “You can angst over your failed mission tomorrow. Relax for now.”

Dean’s cell began to ring again, causing them both to groan.

“And turn that freaking thing _off_ already,” Amy added.

Dean paused for a half a minute, then turned his cell off, ending the non stop calls from John Winchester for a while. It wasn’t until Indy was shooting the master swordsman that Dean let out a laugh and sunk back into the couch next to Amy.

Pizza finished, movie wrapping up, beers drunk, Dean turned to Amy, who was loosely holding an empty bottle in her hand and smiling a little at him. Dean wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her to him, kissing her gently.

“Go upstairs?” Amy whispered when the kiss broke.

“No.” Dean took the bottle from her fingers and put it on the table. “Let’s stay right here.”

Amy put her arms around Dean’s neck and swung her leg over his lap like she was mounting a horse. Dean’s hands settled on her waist under her shirt, his fingers running over the little roll of pudge above the waistband of her jeans.

“Leave my muffin top alone,” Amy breathed into Dean’s neck as she kissed his ear.

“I like it,” he whispered back.

“Makes you hungry?” Amy’s lips grazed the hollow of Dean’s collarbone.

“All of you makes me hungry.”

As Dean and Amy slipped each other out of their clothes, a small Northern Shrike landed on the living room windowsill. Cocking its head to the side, its very human blue eyes watched as Dean and Amy made love on the couch. When it was finally bored with the show, the bird made its way around the house, looking for an easy way to break in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Northern Shrike is a small grey songbird with a black eyemask and white underparts. As an adult, it usually only weighs about 2.5 ounces. But don't let its tiny size fool you: this delicate bird is carnivorous and its diet consists of vertebrates like mice or lizards or even other songbirds, all of which it catches and impales on thorns for storage.


	9. Chapter 9

Dean jerked himself awake. The sun was setting outside, dimming the bedroom. Next to him, Amy snuggled into her pillow a little deeper, making whimpery noise in her sleep. After the couch, Dean had lead Amy upstairs and they spent the rest of the day in her bed. Now he was awake because there was something going very wrong in her house.

“Aim. Aim!” Dean gave Amy’s shoulder a shake.

Amy opened her eyes, blinking blearily up at him. “Oh, Dean. Aren’t you tired yet?” Her voice was teasing, but the look at Dean’s face made her drop her playful smile. “What’s wrong?”

“Were all your doors locked?” Dean asked, getting up to throw his clothes on.

“I have no idea. Probably not.” Amy joined him in dressing.

“No. Stay here.” Dean laid a hand on her shoulder.

“Oh, go fuck yourself, Winchester,” Amy snapped, slapping his hand away.

Dean opened her bedroom door, peeking out, with his gun clutched in both of his hands at the ready. Behind him, Amy fumbled in her underwear drawer for her pistol.

“What are you doing?” Dean hissed.

“Coming with you,” Amy replied.

“Like hell.”

“I’m not gonna fight with you--”

“Then _stay here_.”

Amy glared at Dean witheringly. “I will not.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Fine. I don’t want to hear about it when you get hurt.”

Amy snorted at his comment as Dean pushed the bedroom door open and they made their way into the hallway. They reached the top of the staircase and the picture above Dean’s head exploded, spraying glass everywhere.

“The fuck!” Dean shouted, stumbling back and shoving Amy behind him.

“Emilia Putnam, come down here!” called a cheerful voice.

Dean and Amy exchanged an odd look.

 _Faith?_ Amy mouthed at Dean.

 _No way!_ Dean mouthed back.

Amy shrugged, confused, and called out, “Faith?”

“We have so many things to talk about,” Faith’s voice reached them. “Like how you replaced one hunter with another.”

“What are you talking about?” Amy asked, surprise and shock etched on her face.

“Don’t play dumb with me.” Faith sounded pissed now. “I’m in _no_ mood for games.”

Amy coughed suddenly. She covered her mouth and coughed again, splattering blood over her palm. Dean yanked her hand away from her lips as blood dripped off Amy’s chin. Clutching her stomach, Amy’s brown eyes widened in fear as more blood poured from her mouth.

“How do you feel now?” Faith asked, appearing at the bottom of the stairs to look up at them. “Pretty bad, huh? That’s the hex bag we made for you. Serious business. Now,” Faith’s blue eyes flashed, “ _get down here_.”

With one arm around Amy’s waist, Dean helped her down the stairs. When they reached Faith, another woman relieved them of their weapons. Amy looked around her living room.

“What is this?” she croaked out.

Beside Faith, there were three other women in the room, including Kate. The coffee table was laid as a black magic altar, including a rather unpleasant looking blade that Dean figured he could grab if he overpowered the woman standing next to it. That would mean dropping Amy, though, whose mouth was rimmed with blood. Dean adjusted Amy against him tighter, glaring around the room.

“Kate?” Amy whispered.

Kate looked at Amy and shrugged. Dean could tell she was scared. In fact, all the women in the room looked scared. Except Faith, she looked crazed.

“Now,” Faith chirped pleasantly like they were having another wine-soaked girls' night, “where’s the spell book?”

“Not you too,” Amy groaned, closing her eyes.

“”Don’t play with me,” Faith snapped, clenching her fist tighter. Amy let out a cry and writhed in Dean’s arms. “Where is it?”

“She doesn’t have it,” Dean exclaimed. “I’ve been all over this house. It’s not here.”

Faith turned to Dean, suddenly interested. “You’ve looked for it? Why would you want it?”

“I need it,” Dean answered carelessly. The truth was, he had no idea why John Winchester wanted the book.

“I think it’s more than that,” Faith said, one hand on her hip while she opened and closed the fingers on her other hand. Dean saw the hex bag she’d mentioned in her palm.

“Let Dean go and I’ll take you to it,” Amy gasped.

“What?” Faith asked at the same time Dean asked, “What?”

Amy looked up at Dean. “Sorry. I was hoping you’d just stop asking and leave.”

Dean opened his mouth to reply, but a sudden flex of the hex bag in Faith’s hand made Amy shriek and splatter more blood across the floor in front of her.

“All right! Enough!” Dean roared. He sat Amy on the couch, laying her head back gently against the cushions. “Tell me where it is, Aim. Tell me and I’ll take her to it.”

Dean wiped the thick blood off Amy’s chin with his shirt as Amy answered, “The garden shed. Under the altar cloth. In the table.”

“ _In_ the table?” Dean asked. “Smart move.”

“Take me there, handsome,” Faith ordered. She turned to the other women. “Watch her. And try not to kill each other--or her--with their guns.”

Amy glanced around the room at women she worked with at the high school, including her best friend Kate, and tears spilled over her bottom lashes. Dean shot her one last look before he left the room.

“Don’t try to be clever, handsome,” Faith told Dean as they headed to Amy’s shed. “Just remember I hold Mia’s life in my hand.”

“You don’t have to remind me,” Dean growled.

Dean opened the door, shoving Faith out of the way, and rushed to Amy’s altar. Pushing the altar cloth to the side, Dean pulled the spell book out of its silk-lined nest and spun around, holding the fragile volume up.

“Give me the hex bang and you can have it,” he said.

Faith considered his offer for a second before crushing the bag in her hand. Dean could hear Amy’s scream across the backyard.

“Bitch!” the word tore out of Dean’s throat.

“Give me the book!” Faith demanded, her voice rising.

“No!” Dean flung himself on the tiny woman, knocking her to the ground. Kneeling above her, Dean wrestled the hex bag out of her grasp and ran back to the house, holding both book and bag.

Bursting in the back door, Dean threw the hex bag into the sink. Digging through the drawers as as two of the women rushed into the room, Dean searched for a pack of matches. He could see Faith staggering across the backyard, screeching.

“Stop him!” she screamed. “He has the book!”

Dean found matches and lit the whole pack before dropping it on the hex bag. He spun around to face the women in the doorway, who looked scared and confused.

“Where is she?” Dean demanded.

“In the living room,” one of them replied in a shaky voice.

Dean shoved past them into the living room, where Kate was cowering near the front door. Amy was laying on the couch, head hanging off the cushions, a pool of blood puddled under her dangling head.

“Amy? Amy!” Dean grabbed her up by the shoulders. Amy’s head lolled. “Fuck! Amy, wake up!”

“Stop screaming, you lunatic,” Amy muttered, opening her eyes. She smiled, her teeth streaked with blood.

“Holy shit,” Dean exhaled a metric fucktonne of air. Still holding Amy, Dean glared over his shoulder at Kate and the other two women. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll get that crazy fucking bitch out of here before I kill her.”

Faith faltered into the room. She looked terrible. Her hair and eyes were wild and she was babbling like mad.

“The book. Where is it? I need it. I have to have it. _Give it to me_!” Faith’s voice rose to a howl. Kate and the other women grabbed her and started to drag her out of Amy’s house.

As she was leaving, Kate turned to Amy and Dean.

“Aim?” she asked. Amy looked away from Dean, who was wiping off her face with his already blood-smeared shirt. “I’m sorry. I--I am. I thought we were just having fun. I didn’t know this was so serious.”

Amy shook her head slowly, total disbelief etched all over her face. “Get out of here, Kate. Just go.”

“I’m sorry,” Kate repeated, her voice shaking. “I’m so sorry.”

Amy turned away from Kate and buried her face in Dean’s chest.

“If ya know what’s good for ya …” Dean began and Kate fled, slamming the door behind her. Dean turned his attention back to Amy. “C’mon, let’s get you cleaned up.”

Amy stumbled getting up, falling into Dean, still a little weak on her feet. “What happens now?”

“You wash up and then we drink.” Dean smiled at her.

“What about Faith?” Amy asked. “She may come back for the spell book.”

“Well, if you got it out of your house,” Dean suggested innocently, “and gave it to someone who’ll take it really far away …”

Amy sighed. “Okay, Dean. You can have it.”

“Truth?”

“Sure.”

“I don’t even want the fucking thing anymore,” Dean told Amy as he closed the bathroom door after them.


	10. Chapter 10

“It’s going to be weird going back to work on Monday, knowing that four of my coworkers tried to kill me last night,” Amy commented, holding her coffee mug in both hands.

Dean leaned back from the kitchen table, stuffed to the hilt with way too much breakfast.

“Well, actually, only Faith wanted to kill you,” he pointed out. “The other ones thought they were just goofing around.”

“Some goofing,” Amy muttered.

“But she didn’t kill you and you’re good now, right?” Dean grinned.

Amy shot him an annoyed look across the table. “Yeah. Everything’s peachy.”

A sheepish and apologetic early morning call from Kate informed them that Faith had been picked up by the police, raving that she was a witch and she was going to kill Emilia Putnam. The police had taken her to the local BSU for observation.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, drinking coffee. Dean glanced at Amy again. For a person who almost bled to death in her living room less than 10 hours before, she seemed to be coping pretty well.

After Amy was sufficiently washed clean of gore, Dean joined her in the shower.

“I thought you said shower sex was complicated,” Amy teased as she wrapped her arms around his waist.

“Oh, it is,” Dean agreed. “Not enough that I’m not willing to give it a shot.”

Braced against the wall, Dean and Amy slipped and slid through a round of soapy shower sex that left Amy shaking with pleasure and Dean massaging Charlie horses out of his calves.

“Still better than no sex,” Dean said, handing Amy a towel.

“God, yes.” Amy was emphatic in her agreement. “Let’s try it without the prospect of falling and breaking our necks, okay?”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Dean teased.

The mood Sunday morning was considerably less jolly with Amy morose over her near-fatal bout with a hex bag and Dean wondering how he could get the book off her.

“So.” Amy set her mug down. “When do you think you’ll be leaving?”

If Dean was surprised by the question, he didn’t show it.

“Soon, I guess,” Dean shrugged casually. “I’m gonna have to call my dad and find out where we’re meeting up.”

“No idea where the old man could be, huh?” Amy asked.

Dean shook his head. “Nope. He could be anywhere.”

“Is he gonna be pissed you’ve been gone so long?” Amy glanced at the calendar.

“Probably. But this wasn’t exactly the easiest smash and grab job.”

Dean and Amy smirked at each other.

“Why didn’t you just give it to me that first time I asked?” Dean wanted to know.

“Because I didn’t know why you wanted it,” Amy said. “Why do you want it?”

“Dunno,” Dean replied honestly. “Dad wants it, so he wants it.”

“He doesn’t tell you why?” Amy asked. “He just expects you to do whatever he tells you?”

Dean considered this for a minute. “It’s always been like that.”

“That’s no way to grow up,” Amy said.

Dean shrugged, resigned. “I guess.”

“C’mon.” Amy stood up. “Let’s get you the book and get you on your way.”

Dean looked up, surprised. “What?”

“Don’t want to leave your old man hanging in the wind, right?” Amy turned on her heel and left the room to fetch the spell book from Mike’s locked office.

Dean waited a few minutes before following her upstairs. Finding her sitting on the office floor, surrounded by Mike’s research materials, Amy seemed relaxed, at ease.

“You know,” Dean said, leaning against the doorframe, “you could always put yourself out there as a researcher. You’ve got all the stuff and you’re smart.”

“Yeah? And what kind of benefits does that offer?” Amy asked, smiling up at the handsome guy.

Dean sighed through his nose as he smiled. “Not much,” he admitted. “But it would be nice to hear a friendly voice on the other end of the phone if I need to know something.”

“I thought you knew everything,” Amy teased lightly.

Dean considered this. “I know a little about a lot of things.”

“Just enough to make you dangerous, huh?” Amy held the spell book out to him.

“Just.” Dean took the book, then held his hand out to help Amy to her feet.

Amy went to put her arms around Dean, but stopped. They stood there, awkwardly not looking at each other, for a few minutes before Amy’s bravado kicked in.

“Better call your dad before his head explodes,” she said happily, slapping Dean on the chest. “Meet ya downstairs.”

Dean waited until she was out of earshot before dialing John Winchester’s phone.

“Where the hell have you been, Dean?” John Winchester shouted into his ear.

“Maine,” Dean replied. “I got the book.”

“Forget about that now,” John Winchester said angrily. “You need to meet me in Broken Arrow, OK.”

“But--” Dean began.

“Did you hear me, Dean?” John Winchester barked. “Get here. _Now_.”

“You gotta give me a day or two, Dad.”

“You have a day.” John Winchester hung up on Dean.

Dean tucked his cell phone into his jeans pocket and stood in the middle of Mike’s office. A day to get from Maine to Oklahoma. It could be done, Dean considered, if he pushed Baby hard and didn’t sleep. But he had to leave now. Right now.

Thumping downstairs, Dean found Amy on the couch, legs tucked under her, mug in front of her on the table.

“I have to go,” he said with no preamble.

“I figured,” Amy replied.

“Here.” Dean put the spell book on the table next to her mug.

“What’s this?” Amy asked.

“I don’t need it anymore.”

Amy’s face flushed red. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“No. My dad--”

“Fuck your dad!” Amy exclaimed. She clambered to her feet and slammed the book against his chest. “Your fucking Tolkien quest for that fucking thing almost got me fucking killed! And now you’re telling me you don’t fucking _want_ it now? Fuck you, Dean Winchester. Don’t you fucking dare leave that thing here. I’ll fucking burn it.”

Dean stood impassive, waiting for her rage to fade. He took the spell book from her and tucked it into his duffel.

“You done?” he asked.

Amy covered her face with her hands before pushing them both back into her hair. “Yeah. I guess.”

“I’ll take it with me if you swear to answer this phone if it rings.” Dean handed Amy one of Mike’s phones. _Not_ the girlfriend phone. He had that one in his pocket.

“What’s this?” Amy asked, taking it from him.

“It’s one of the phones I found in Mike’s office,” Dean told her. “Hunters are always calling it, looking for answers.”

“Dean--” Amy sighed.

“No, listen,” Dean said, trying not to sound desperate. “You can help us. You can help all of us. We don’t mind killing shit--it’s what we do--but reading? Research? Not a lot of us got the patience for it. But you do.”

“I’ve never researched a thing for a hunter,” Amy said, turning the phone over and over in her hands.

“No, but you’re smart, right? You can read, right? You can do this.” Dean grinned. “Besides, you can give us medical advice over the phone so we don’t gotta go to the hospital.”

Amy laughed. “Great. I’m Dial-A-Nurse.”

“Sounds like a great porn,” Dean told her.

Grabbing his duffel bag, Dean walked to the door. Amy joined him in the doorway.

“This has been a really bizarre few days,” Amy said, smiling a little.

“But fun,” Dean said.

“Except for the almost dying part,” Amy added.

“Except for that,” Dean conceded.

They stood there, staring at each other, for a few minutes before Amy gave Dean a shove.

“Get going,” she chided him. “Even Mike didn’t take this long to say goodbye.”

Dean leaned over and kissed Amy. Dropping his bag on the floor, Dean held her face in both of his hands as Amy’s hands gripped his belt. When their kiss finally broke, Dean and Amy let out long, matching sighs.

“Bye,” Amy whispered.

“See ya around, Putnam,” Dean said softly.

Dean was closing the door behind him when the cell phone in Amy’s hand rang. Pausing, Dean looked over his shoulder. Amy’s back was to him, but he could see the hesitation set in her shoulders. Suddenly, she straightened up and answered the phone.

“Hello?” she asked. “No. He’s dead. This is Amy. I took over for him. What do you need?”

Dean grinned to himself and shut the door after him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't think I was going to get past those first two chapters, but--when I did--this fic practically wrote itself. So, yeah, that's all, folks. ;)


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